


La Petite Mort

by RedHorse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consent Issues, Fuck Or Die, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, PWP, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: Harry was looking up at George with unfocused eyes. “What’s happening?” he asked, like he was waking up and didn’t know if he was dreaming. George leaned down and kissed the side of his mouth, then his cheek, his ear.“Fred is fucking you, to make you better.”





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashgoblinwizardparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty/gifts).



> Thanks to Miraculous for the beta read!
> 
> If you ever meet me or have met me please never mention my shame to me in person! 😅

The room at Shell Cottage was quiet. The portrait of Ron’s parents as newlyweds, which had hung by the door as long as he could remember, was slightly crooked. A few moments earlier, Snape had disappeared into the single bedroom. Five minutes earlier, Snape had arrived after George sent a coded message through the Floo. Fifteen minutes earlier, it had taken all four of them to disarm and restrain Harry, whose eyes were red as blood.

 

It didn’t take Snape long to see enough. He re-emerged, and Ron, Hermione and the twins all turned his way.

 

“I don’t understand it,” Fred said after a moment.

 

“It was only a bit of a mishap,” George added.

 

“We’ve had much worse without turning anyone demonic.”

 

“Whatever happened,” Snape said with a scowl, “the magical feedback awoke the Horcrux in Potter.”

 

“H-Horcrux?” Hermione managed. Ron, stunned, took a full moment before he could speak.

 

“You don’t have to be so fucking matter-of-fact,” Ron snapped. “Though you wouldn’t know what it’s like to care about someone, we…”

 

“Ron,” Hermione said, giving him a steady look. “It’s fine. Getting angry won’t help.” She looked calmly at Snape. “Explain.”

 

“Potter is a Horcrux. It happened by accident the night his parents died.”

 

Despite her advice to Ron, Hermione’s eyes flashed and her hands clenched into fists. “How could you  _ know that _ ,” she hissed, “and not help him!”

 

Snape narrowed his eyes. “It was Professor Dumbledore’s belief that in order to destroy the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord would have to kill Harry himself.”

 

The silence was heavy and suffocating. Ron looked toward the portrait again, anxious for any sort of sensory achor. But his vision had gone blurry with tears from a dozen strong emotions felt all at once.

 

“Dumbledore wouldn’t,” Ron murmured. Yet of course he would, and so would anyone, if it was the only way to end Voldemort.

 

“However, that is obviously no longer an option,” Snape muttered. “The Horcrux is active. It can take control of Harry bodily, and if it were to discover Potter’s ability to communicate telepathically with the Dark Lord…” His mouth twisted into a grim line.

 

Suddenly, the twins were on their feet, Hermione with them, and Ron had drawn his wand.

 

“You’re not touching him,” Hermione said in a rough whisper. “We won’t let you hurt Harry.” 

 

Ron felt sick at the thought of Harry in the next room, tied up and oblivious. There were four of them—thank Merlin the twins were there; or, damn them, depending on how you looked at it—Ron still wasn’t sure whether they were a match for Snape even collectively.

 

Snape arched a brow, but otherwise didn’t move. “I wasn’t going to murder him. A human isn’t merely their body. The existence of Horcruxes is proof of that, no?”

 

“The Horcruxes have to be destroyed beyond magical repair,” Hermione said slowly. “But you can’t destroy a person just by killing their body.”

 

“Correct, Granger.”

 

“Then what are you planning to do?” Ron demanded. Snape looked briefly ill, then regained control of himself in the next beat.

 

“What I must.” When he saw only four blank stares, he inhaled through his nose and said, “Remove the Horcrux through an experimental application of the  _ Vocatio a Liberatio _ ritual.”

 

Hermione and Ron looked at one another without understanding. Even under the circumstances, it was strangely reassuring that Hermione could sometimes be as ignorant as Ron.

 

But Fred snorted and George laughed in disbelief. 

 

“ _ Sex magic _ ?”

 

****

 

Snape left the room in shocked silence to, in his words, “make preparations.”

 

“What are our other options?” Hermione said, sounding half-hysterical. “There must be other options!”

 

“If there were other options, I’m sure Snape would be the first one to think of them. He  _ hates _ Harry,” Ron muttered.

 

Hermione dashed away a couple of frantic tears from beneath her reddened eyes. “That’s what makes all of this even worse.”

 

“You know, maybe it’s  _ because _ he hates Harry that he wants to be the one,” Fred said thoughtfully. “That’s what some people are into.” Ron glowered at him, and Fred’s eyes widened. He held up his hands. “Sorry. But it’s not like crying about it will change anything.”

 

George, sitting beside Fred, looked pensive. “It wouldn’t  _ have _ to be Snape, would it?”

 

“Sex magic is like a wrestling match,” Hermione said glumly. “The one with more strength prevails. Do you really think any of us but Professor Snape would have a chance against Voldemort?”

 

“It’s only a small piece of Voldemort,” Fred reminded them, and looked at George. George looked back, and they exchanged thoughtful nods. 

 

“We could pair our magic,” George said, cocking his head, “like we did when we Summoned that erumpet. It was messy, but I think we had it down by the time we—”

 

“Duplicated the Acromantula venom into poison rain,” Fred agreed, nodding.

 

Hermione looked back and forth between them with open horror. “What on earth do you two get up to?”

 

George shrugged dismissively. “You think running a radio broadcast is all we’re doing for the war effort?”

 

While Hermione gaped, Fred looked Ron straight in the eye and said, “We could do it.”

 

There was a long moment where Ron and Hermione stared back at them. Ron’s impulse was to ask what it was they intended to do, but of course, that was a redundant question.

 

“‘We’?” Ron echoed weakly instead.

 

Fred smiled slowly. “Now, Ronniekins, don’t be jealous. We can tell you how he was afterward, if you—”

 

Hermione sprang to her feet, breathing hard and eyes glowing with outrage. “Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” she hissed, “talk about Harry like that.”

 

Fred’s smile faded. “Y’know, dark humor is a very legitimate coping mechanism.”

 

George linked their arms together and patted Fred’s hand. “What do you think Harry would prefer, Hermione? Us, or...him?”

 

Hermione heaved a breath, her wand-hand trembling with lingering malice, then she slowly lowered her arm to her side and looked miserably at Ron.

 

“They have a point.”

 

****

 

George followed Fred into the bedroom, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. Fred moved further into the room and stood at the bedside. Harry was motionless, but his eyes were too tightly closed for him to be asleep.

 

“Harry?” Fred asked softly.

 

“Let me go,” came the soft, familiar voice. But for some reason instead of making George want to go and untie him, it only made him wish to be on the other side of the door. Fred reached down and touched Harry’s chest, just above the ropes of  _ Incarcerous _ taut around his ribcage.

 

“Can’t do that,” Fred said quietly. He looked up at George. “Come ‘ere.”

 

George didn’t move. Fred frowned.

 

“If you can’t even come touch him, how do you think you’ll do what comes next?”

 

George pried himself from the door and walked over. It was only a couple of steps to get to the other side of the bed. Harry’s eyes were still closed, his jaw clenched, and he was flinching away from Fred’s soft but deliberate touch. 

 

“For this to work,” Fred said quietly, “we’ll have to figure out what he likes.”

 

“Which ‘he’?” George asked, fascinated despite himself. He reached down to the place where Harry’s ankles were bound to the iron bed-rail and dipped his fingers beneath the cuff of his trousers, feeling the coarse hair over his warm ankle. There was a soft sound of surprise from Harry’s mouth.

 

“Whichever one of them is in control at that particular time,” Fred replied. He pushed up Harry’s shirt and stroked his stomach, which was heaving with his shallow breaths. “For now, it would be You-Know-Who.”

 

Harry’s lips parted in a snarl. “Don’t…” 

 

But Fred barely hesitated before he slid his hand down the front of Harry’s trousers. The body thrashed.

 

“I thought I smelled jasmine,” growled Harry’s stolen voice. “You think you can oust me with carnal power?  _ No one has the strength _ .” His eyes opened, flame-red, and George took a fast backward step despite himself. Fred froze, his hand still buried in Harry’s clothes.

 

Fred was uncharacteristically silent. George forced himself to move, stepping around the bed to embrace Fred from behind. Within a moment, Fred’s faint tremble eased.

 

“We’ll see about that,” he said. 

 

George slowly extended his arm to feel what he was feeling.

 

“He’s bigger than I thought,” Fred murmured, shifting his hand so George could explore too, their fingers tangled over Harry’s slack cock, his heavy balls, all furred in curls that George suddenly wanted to see. He knew they’d be dark, like the trail of hair past Harry’s navel, and the contrast would be striking against his pale skin.

 

“You’ll regret this,” promised the sinister voice, Harry’s eyes red slits. His thin but strong arms strained and George watched the bindings with sick fascination, knowing they’d hold, and yet...

 

Someone knocked on the door, and the twins both went still again. Harry’s body thrashed and a tangle of Parseltongue exploded from him, gasps and hisses. George watched in horror.

 

“He’s brought what you need,” came Hermione’s stilted voice. “We’re ready for you to begin.”

 

****

 

They laid the rune circle, put a milky-clear crystal the size of George’s fist on the night table, applied more jasmine oil, then Vanished Harry’s clothes.

 

His body tended and he snarled and hissed his vivid promises. Fred reached around George’s back and squeezed his shoulder.

 

“I don’t know if I can…” George murmured.

 

“...I know I can’t,” Fred said simply. “Not alone.”

 

George swallowed and nodded. Fred let him go with a quick grin. “Besides, we have Snape’s potions. I bet he uses them all the time.”

 

Despite the circumstances George couldn’t help an answering smirk. But before he could build on the jibe there was a dark chuckle from the body on the bed.

 

“You mean Severus, do you? I should have known he was the traitor. You can never trust a spy. Not even your own.”

 

Fred looked at George and grimaced.

 

“It won’t matter,” George muttered. “Soon it’ll be gone.”

 

They took Snape’s clear, tasteless potions without any more jokes, and almost instantly, George felt so sensitive he itched. When he leaned against Fred, even that sensation went straight to his cock.

 

“Like old times,” he breathed.

 

“Oh to be thirteen and desperate again.”

 

“I take offense.”

 

Fred smiled fondly. “I wouldn’t have traded you for any other first wanking partner, Georgie, no matter what the old society ladies would say.”

 

George rolled his eyes. They hadn’t touched each other that way for a long time, and when they’d been doing it it had felt good, but also too intense, somehow. George had always had the sense that he and Fred were in a world within a world, and they were the only two people in both. The more they shared, the less real everything else seemed. There was a balance to having sex with other people which felt more right.

 

Harry was very still; again, as though feigning sleep. Fred took a deep breath and circled the bed to check the Charmed rope. George slowly knelt on the bed, his pulse hammering. He lowered his face toward Harry’s.

 

“Harry,” George said in his ear while Fred cinched the rope tighter around his wrists, “if you can hear me, we’re going to help you.” On impulse, he kissed Harry’s smooth cheek. Harry’s head jerked as he growled, flexing his arms against the rope. George leaned back and Harry’s bright red eyes fixed on him, murderous.

 

“I’m going to kill you for this,” Harry’s voice promised, low and smooth. All the hair rose on the backs of George’s arms.

 

“You’re only going to make him harder,” Fred said. “George likes to get scared.” He finished the knots and stepped back. Harry’s arms were above his head, his thin chest heaving, his hair already sweat-tangled. 

 

“Do we…?” George began uncertainly. He was ignoring what Fred had just said, though it was true. His cock was uncomfortably hard, and even the heavy velvet of his robes was beginning to chafe as he got increasingly sensitive.

 

“We have to,” Fred said grimly, “just to be sure.”

 

George frowned, but put his wand in the silky dark hair of Harry’s armpit with a steady hand. “ _ Crucio _ .”

 

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed. He grunted. George looked at Fred, who nodded, and George grit his teeth, terminated the spell and then repeated it with more force. “ _ Crucio! _ ”

 

This time, Harry’s eyes flew open, his lips parting in a scream, and his eyes flickered and turned green, then red, then green once more. His voice undulated from furious to terrified and he threw himself against his bound wrists and ankles so violently George thought he might break a bone.

 

He looked at Fred. Fred nodded. George terminated the spell and Harry’s body flopped back on the mattress, his breathing ragged.

 

“We know the bindings will hold,” Fred murmured, and put two fingers against Harry’s throat, snatching them back at once when Harry’s eyes opened again—red—and his lip curled in a snarl.

 

“I’ll flay you,” he whispered to them. “Imagine, every nerve-ending exposed. Worse than  _ Crucio _ , which is meant, after all, just for punishment.” The dark and clinical tone sounded so odd, delivered in Harry’s voice, that George could almost forget who was speaking. If he pretended it was all a game, it was easier, George thought as he straddled Harry’s torso. George bent his head and licked Harry’s throat, corded with tension, and the body thrashed in protest. 

 

Fred dipped a hand out of sight behind George, testing Harry’s cock, and sighed. “Not hard at all. Keep going.”

 

George hesitated. He tongued the shell of Harry’s ear, mindful of the bared teeth—he had to hold Harry’s head to one side with a tight grip on his jaw—and breathed hot on his neck. Fred hummed approvingly.

 

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Use your teeth.”

 

George nipped a fold of skin, and the lobe of Harry’s ear, and then bit down hard on the ridge of lean muscle over his shoulder. 

 

The body spasmed and stilled. For balance George had rested one palm on Harry’s chest, cupped over his heart, and he could feel the hammering pulse through the cage of prominent ribs. He brought his thumb and forefinger together, rolled the nipple between them thoughtfully, then pinched as he let go with his teeth and gently kissed the marks.

 

“Yes,” Fred hissed, finally getting caught up in the mood. He had a certain tone of voice when he was hard, like he had to speak through gritted teeth. George felt his brother getting into position behind him, slipping one hand around George’s waist while with the other he continued to stroke Harry’s cock, a motion George could now feel in the shoulder and upper arm that were flush against his back.

 

George arched his back a little more so he could lower his mouth to Harry’s collarbones without pushing Fred out of position, and felt his own erection hit his abs, sticky and throbbing. Then he remembered, as he left a row of small bite marks on Harry’s flushed-rose skin, this was more or less Voldemort tied up under him, hissing and thrashing. The thought made his vision starry and his balls pull tight.

 

Fred tugged George up with the hand that was still wrapped around him, and when George was upright, blinking down at Harry’s face, Fred rested his chin on George’s shoulder.

 

“Do you want to fuck him?” he asked in George’s ear, “or shall I?”

 

George tried not to whimper, clutching his own needy cock with an urgent grip but not letting himself stroke. The pleasure of denial was heady. He leaned his head against Fred’s. “You can,” George murmured. “I know you’ve always wanted to.”

 

Fred kissed George’s shoulder and swung down off the bed to adjust Harry’s ankles, spreading his legs further apart.

 

Harry’s heaving body went still. Fred looked down; his eyes were closed.

 

“Please,” Harry whispered, in a voice that sounded nothing like the one spitting threats moments before. George froze, his lips parting, and behind him he felt Fred pause as well. “Don’t do this. Don’t do this to me.”

 

“It’s a trick,” Fred murmured, and jerked Harry’s other leg into position. The spread-eagle position put more pressure on his wrists, but instead of fighting or swearing, he only bit his lip.

 

“Harry?” George murmured, leaning forward and putting a tentative hand on Harry’s forehead. “If it’s you, open your eyes, love.”

 

“I can’t,” Harry said. 

 

“He won’t,” Fred insisted, meanwhile lifting Harry’s hips and tucked two pillows beneath them. “You know why.”

 

“Please don’t do this,” Harry whispered. “Anything but this. You’re like my brothers. You can’t.”

 

“We  _ are _ your brothers,” George agreed, cradling Harry’s face as he felt Fred kneeling behind him, one hand on the back of his neck. “That’s why we have to.” 

 

Harry’s eyes stayed firmly closed. “Please, please, please,” he murmured, a soft mantra. George smelled the lube Fred liked, heard the slick sounds as he wanked himself a few times to get wet, and then watched Harry’s mouth form an O when Fred pushed in without any additional prep.

 

Harry’s eyes opened at the shock of it. They were green.

 

“Wait!” George cried, then swore. “Harry?”

 

Fred was still moving. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said between soft pants, making a shallow thrust to open Harry up then pressing in further with a grunt. “We still have to.”

 

Harry was looking up at George with unfocused eyes. “What’s happening?” he asked, like he was waking up and didn’t know if he was dreaming. George leaned down and kissed the side of his mouth, then his cheek, his ear.

 

“Fred is fucking you, to make you better.” 

 

Harry gasped when Fred made a final, sharp thrust, his hips slapping against Harry’s thighs as he bottomed out.

 

“Oh. And what are  _ you _ doing?” Harry asked dazedly. 

 

“I’m waiting until Fred gets closer, because I won’t last long,” George explained, rubbing his cock needily against Harry’s stomach, half-wishing it was his arse that Fred was pounding into. He felt desperate for something, anything, and the only thing keeping him from coming already was the knowledge that if Harry was in control right now, it was only a matter of time before he lost it again. The stakes were too high to get lost in the moment.

 

The potions Snape had given them were intensifying everything, making George fumble-fingered and sloppy-tongued as he lowered his face back toward Harry’s, hesitated til he saw green, then kissed him deeply on the mouth.

 

“Why…?” Harry gasped as Fred snapped his hips and made a low urgent sound.

 

“Now, Georgie,” Fred panted. “Come on. Close.” 

 

Then George felt Harry’s teeth close purposefully on his earlobe.

 

“Fred, Harry’s…” his voice gave way to a strangled shout as Harry’s teeth tore through his skin, Fred reaching around him to pull him free.

 

Somehow the deep penetrating sting and the hot wash of his own blood on his neck left George closer to coming than ever. He’d never been so frightened or so confused, and his brother was pulling him into position by the hips, still deeply buried in Harry.

 

“Snap out of it,” Fred growled. “We’re finishing this.” He grasped Harry’s cock to line him up.

 

“Twins,” spat Harry’s voice. “But still, you won’t overcome me. What are you, a pair of Mudbloods? I have Slytherin’s magic, and you—“

 

“Weasley,” George answered, his torn ear burning horribly, so much his cock flagged even as he slowly impaled himself on Harry’s. The stretch was a bright hot pain that distracted him from the one pulsing in his head.

 

“Though we’ve been told we take after the Prewitts,” George added, wrapping himself around Fred. 

 

Harry’s body struggled, but only briefly; when he successfully jostled the twins, they all three gasped and moaned, melding more tightly to one another.

 

And Harry’s eyes were green again, bright and wild.

 

“ _ What are you doing, _ ” he whimpered. In answer, George lifted himself with his straining thighs, then lowered again, leaning forward as he did so to give Fred more room to move. “Please,” Harry said in a hushed whisper.

 

“Shhh,” Fred soothed, grinding his hips into Harry’s thighs, sweat building slickly between his stomach and George’s arse. “Nearly there, aren’t we, Georgie?”

 

George nodded, groaning as he seated himself completely. Harry was big. The biggest he’d taken. And he could imagine what it felt like for Harry, Fred’s cock buried in him, his cock buried in George.

 

“I’m going to…” Harry panted. “Oh, God, George—“

 

Fred’s hand skimmed George’s abs, and before George could decide whether or not he wanted his brother wanking him, Fred was doing it, with a sure grip that felt a lot like George’s own and also nothing like it at all…

 

He felt Harry pulse and gasped. “Now! Fred—fuck, yes, now…”

 

He came over Fred’s fist, and Fred ground against him and Harry and came deep in Harry’s arse, while George felt that curious soft pressure of Harry filling him up.

 

The magic set in at once. It was like the air caught fire, then froze. George felt it rake his skin from his scalp to his toes, electric, then Harry’s writhing body was still.

 

Fred held George tightly. They both stared down at Harry. His green eyes were dim, his mouth slack, and his chest didn’t rise or fall.

 

Then he gasped and his head jerked up. He blinked at them, then squinted. Of course, George thought, still shocked it had actually worked. He couldn’t see properly without his glasses.

 

“Harry?” George whispered, leaning toward Harry’s face. He wasn’t bleeding now, but his ear still hurt so he carefully stayed out of range.

 

Harry looked confused, his eyes skimming over George’s bare chest, then he blushed. “Oh my God. Did we just…?”

 

“Yeah,” George breathed. Behind him, Fred slipped out of Harry and lifted George off as well. George was wet with come from his back to his front, and the feeling made him somehow shy. Fred saved him, as always, nudging him aside and reaching for Harry’s wrists.

 

“I’ll explain everything,” Fred said soothingly.

 

“Wait,” George hissed. “Are we sure…?”

 

Fred nodded meaningfully at the crystal on the table. It was filled with an inky fog, which shifted restlessly. George shuddered and got out of his brother’s way.

 

****

 

George cleaned up while Fred explained everything to Harry without apology or self-disgust. Then George went out to tell a stricken Ron and Hermione that all was well. While Hermione turned into Ron and pressed her face into his chest, Ron rubbing her quaking shoulders, Snape rose from his chair.

 

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to take your word for it. I’ll need to examine Potter myself.”

 

George’s temper flared. “Not right now,” he said. “He needs a little time.”

 

Snape scowled, but Ron had already stepped between him and the door. “Later,” he said firmly.

 

Snape rolled his eyes and leaned back. “If you all end up dead, it’s not on my conscience.”

 

****

 

When George came back in, Harry was dressed in clean robes, sitting next to Fred—also dressed. They were holding hands.

 

“George,” Harry said simply. The hand no one was holding twitched. George sat on Harry’s other side and held it.

 

“Fred told me,” Harry murmured.

 

Fred stroked George’s hair. “Harry understands.”

 

“More than that, I’m—grateful,” Harry said, blushing. “I’m lucky you were...er, willing.”

 

George squeezed Harry’s hand. Fred leaned down toward the pillows, tugging Harry along with him. Harry, cheeks burning, let himself be led. He rested his head on Fred’s shoulder and sniffed.

 

“Sorry, I don’t really know…” he began, looking lost. “I’ve never…”

 

Fred and George looked at each other again. Then George hastily lay down too with Harry sandwiched between them, George flush against his back so he could feel Harry’s uneven breaths.

 

“We’re sorry, Harry, that you didn’t get a say. If there had been more time or another way—“

 

“No! I’m not sorry.”

 

“But the way it was,” George murmured into Harry’s surprisingly soft, chaotic hair. “That’s not…”

 

Harry hummed. “I didn’t...um, rather, I  _ did _ like it. The way it was.”

 

George didn’t know what to say. Fred grinned down at Harry, rubbing his arm. “That makes sense. I’ve heard heroes are the most eager subs.”

 

“Fred, honestly,” George began, but Harry was laughing, quietly but with a force that shook his whole body.

 

“In that case, I must be a hero after all,” he said shyly against Fred’s shoulder. “I...really liked it. The, um, parts I remember.”

 

“Well,” Fred said slowly, “there’s nothing to say we couldn’t do it again.”

 

George looked up at him. Fred gazed back with a lazy smile. Harry burrowed his face against Fred and his arse against George.

 

“I’d...um, yes. I’d really like that.” He hesitated, then yawned. “Tired now.”

 

“A known side-effect of briefly dying,” Fred said, giving Harry’s head a perfunctory kiss so his hair grazed George’s cheek too. “Tiring business. Sleep.”

 

Harry murmured something George couldn’t make out, and did as he was told.

 

“One Horcrux down, several to go,” George remarked when Harry’s even breathing made it obvious he was deeply asleep. “Will we help?”

 

“I think we have as much Horcrux vanquishment experience as anyone at this point,” Fred said mildly.

 

“I’d like to,” George said. He felt suddenly tired too, and sleep was close. “I’d like to…”

 

“Keep him,” Fred agreed around a yawn. “Yes. We will. Sleep.”

 

George did as he was told, too.


End file.
